Small Wonders
by Eilam Wordsmith
Summary: A collection of short stories, from the past, the future, and all across time.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I thought it might be a good idea to fix the mistakes on here. But considering the fact that I finished this one in the wee hours of the morning, there are surprisingly few errors to fix.

I got the idea for this shortly after watching Meet the Robinsons for the first time. I actually asked my mom the same question when I was little, and having Wilbur say it to Cornelius seemed both sweet and ironic. Thank you many times over to all of the people who have already reviewed "Small Wonders". To have so many talented writers noticing my work is an honor.

By the by, the title comes from the song at the end of the movie. Same title, and quite appropriate.

* * *

Wilbur was not supposed to be in the lab.

He was expressly forbidden, in fact. Cornelius Robinson's lab blew up on a regular basis, and when there were no explosions, the floor and tables were strewn with metal and tools. Hardly a place for any small child, let alone Wilbur. The boy had a talent for trouble that could not be matched by any of his cousins. Furthermore, it was a rare thing for Wilbur to get out to the lab without anyone seeing him.

But on this particular day, the entire frog chorus had been stricken with sore throats, and there appeared to be something purple and glutinous growing on the lawn. With various members of the family running around for medicines or mops (and Carl stuck in the purple stuff), Wilbur seized his chance to toddle off to the lab.

The hum of machinery tingled up through his bare toes, like the lightning bolt printed across his shirt. Wilbur held his breath, stepping as quietly as he could among the debris of creation. Then he looked up, and saw his father, a sunlit figure in white coat and yellow hair, hunched over his workbench. Cornelius held a pencil in one hand, bouncing it up and down on the pad of paper in front of him.

"I know I've got the theory right, but why won't the equations follow through?" His dad murmured. He chewed on the pencil for a moment, then scribbled something down. "Maybe if I can tighten up the linkages somehow, make the heat dump smaller..."

Wilbur edged forward, felt his foot catch on a pipe, and flinched as a pile of scrap metal fell around him.

Cornelius looked up, eye wide and unfocused from thought.

"Wilbur? What are you doing in here?"

Blinking, Cornelius shifted from dazed scientist to concerned father in a heartbeat. He took in the spilled scrap metal, his son's wide gaze, and the tiny smear of purple slime on Wilbur's pants leg.

"Oh. One of those days, then. Come here, son. Don't want to cut yourself on the steel, right?"

He led Wilbur to his workbench, and pulled open one of the drawers. After a moment of rummaging, he found the light pad and electropen he kept there, and handed them to Wilbur, who had already curled himself around his father's chair.

"Can you keep yourself busy while I work?" Cornelius asked.

Wilbur nodded, relieved not to be sent back downstairs, and bent over the pad.

Cornelius turned back to his own pad, this one of old fashioned paper. The scribbles seemed almost completely random to the untrained eye, but the writing that accompanied them was neat and precise. Such was the world to Mr. Robinson. No one seemed to understand his thought processes, but the results were loud and clear. Already people hailed him a savior, a hero, the modern Da Vinci. They never saw his many stumbles, or doubts. They never saw the crumbled pieces of paper, or the warehouse of failed experiments. No one saw but the Robinsons.

"Dad?"

The small voice broke his pattern of thought, but this time Cornelius didn't mind so much. "Yes, Wilbur?"

His son's dark eyes, so unlike his own blue ones, opened wider at his father's attention. "What were you like when you were a kid?"

What a question. Of course, at this age, Wilbur was full of them. And it seemed innocent enough. Any child might ask that of their parent.

But then, few parents had ever time traveled at the age of twelve with their child at the age of thirteen.

Cornelius tapped his pencil. "I looked kind of like I do now," he said. "But I was lonely. Remember, I didn't meet Grandma or Grandpa until later."

"Didn't you have any friends, Dad?"

"My roommate, Mike. You remember Uncle Mike. But other than that, no. Not really."

Wilbur looked down at his pad, made a mark with the pen, and looked up again. "I have a best friend at school," Wilbur said. "His name is Ethan. Didn't you have a best friend, Dad?"

The pencil stopped. Cornelius looked down at his son, studied the familiar dark hair, the similar t-shirt.

"I did, actually. We had a lot of fun together. He changed my life, but then he...he moved away. I didn't see him for a long time, but I never forgot him."

This seemed to satisfy Wilbur, and he went back to his drawing. But then...

"Dad?"

"Yes, Wilbur?"

"Do you think if I were a kid and you were a kid at the same time-do you think we would be friends?"

Cornelius picked up his son, and put him on his lap, pulling him into a hug.

"Without a doubt."

Later, after Cornelius and Wilbur played the pigeon game together and pretended to be secret agents (this was Wilbur's favorite game), and after Frannie had come to put Wilbur down for his nap, Cornelius picked up the light pad from the floor.

Wilbur had drawn two boys-one with dark, sleek hair, and the other with hair that stood up like a haystack. They were holding hands.

_I suppose I'd better get started on that time machine_, Cornelius thought.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Let me start off by saying, "Wow." Big wow. HUGE wow. Because I truly did not expect such a big response for Small Wonders. But it seemed like every MTR fan on the site was telling me how much they loved it. So now let me say, "Thank you."

Next I'm going to say in a sarcastic tone, "Thanks a lot." Because I truly wanted to repay you for your attentions, but I had no ideas for another short story! Arg! And what else is a MTR fan to do but watch the movie again? And again and again and again...

And I found it. My inspiration for this fic was, in fact, the second scene in the movie. Lewis is building his PB&J maker, while Goob chatters away about whatever. It was so Freaking Adorable. Not only did Goob remind me of myself, mumbling away about any inane thought that comes to my head, but Lewis just seemed so utterly fixated and ADD that I knew I had a story here, or at least the characters. So here it is. Enjoy!

* * *

He was a twitchy kid.

Or, at least that was what everyone else said.

"Yeah, he hardly every sits still!"

"And he took the chain off of my bike last week! Didn't say anything, either. He just...took it."

So the boy was a little nervous when Mildred finally took him upstairs to meet his new roommate. He wanted to pull his tiny hand out of hers and run, run far away. But where to run to? Mommy and Daddy were gone, and he didn't have any more family.

"I think you'll like him," Mildred was saying. "He's a little different, but then, we're all different, right? You two should be good friends."

They finally stopped in front of the door at the end of the hall, where Mildred rapped her knuckles on the door.

"Are you up, hon? I'm coming in."

She opened the door, and he saw the blond boy standing in front of a desk, entranced by what looked like a pen attached to a motor.

"Lewis?" Mildred said. "Lewis, your new roommate's here."

The blond boy blinked and looked up at her, a tired smile spreading across his face. "Look, Mildred! I made it! It moves the pen for you, so your hand won't get tired when you write! Isn't it great?"

"That's wonderful, Lewis," Mildred replied, "but remember what today is? This is your new roommate, Michael Yagoobian. Michael, this is Lewis."

Lewis blinked again, and finally noticed the little dark-haired boy holding Mildred's hand. Mike, in turn, stared back, a thumb popped into his mouth.

"I'll let you two get to know each other," Mildred said, slipping her hand out of Mike's. "Call me if you need me."

The door closed, leaving the two boys alone.

Lewis took off his glasses and started rubbing them with his thumb, squinting. "It's good that you're here," he said.

Mike looked up at him. "Really?"

"Yep. I need someone to help me test this thing out. Can you hold the pen while I turn on the engine?"

He was already moving, not waiting for Mike's reply while he flipped switches on the motor, sometimes wiping an errant blond hair out of his eyes.

Mike edged toward the desk, fascinated. "I like to play baseball."

Lewis put his hands on the boy's shoulders, guiding him into the desk chair and putting the wired pen into his hand.

"Do you like to play baseball?"

There was no answer from Lewis, who continued tinkering around inside the motor.

"It's my favorite game. When I get big, I'm going to play on the team. What do you want to do when you get big?"

A sudden turn and Lewis was adjusting the wires on the pen. "I won't waste anymore time," he muttered. "It's now or never." He looked up. "Did you say something?"

Mike shrugged.

"Okay," Lewis said. "Let's start her up!"

One final flick of a switch, and the engine began to hum. Lewis' face seemed to glow from the inside, the brightness matching the loud noise of the motor. The pen in Mike's hand began to vibrate.

And then the machine coughed, sputtered, and died.

Lewis' face crumpled, the glow gone. He sighed and flicked off the engine. "Back to the drawing board," he muttered.

Mike looked at the still pen in his hand and shook it. When it didn't start buzzing again, he put it down. "Too bad," he said. "It was really cool."

"You think so?" Lewis asked, looking up from the broken motor.

"Yep. Do you like baseball?"

The blond kid shrugged. "It's okay, I guess. Do you like inventing?"

His roommate shrugged, and popped his thumb back into his mouth, speaking around it. "It's okay. Do I get the bottom bunk?"

* * *

**Final Author's Note:** So, there you have it. For those who are wondering, this takes place a few years before the movie. I like to think that Goob was the kid who sucked his thumb all the time.

I don't know how long it will be before another plot bunny hops into the yard, so forgive me if you have a long wait ahead. Enjoy your holidays, with every small wonder they contain.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** I've just realized that the Rob Thomas song I named this collection for -- the one from the movie -- is actually called "Little Wonders" not "Small Wonders". Oops. Let us pretend that I did it on purpose, for mysterious and artistic reasons that no one but I can understand.

I truly appreciate all of the reviews and good wishes I've recieved for this fic; Small Wonders was just supposed to be a one-shot, really. But like the song goes, our lives are made up of many little wonders, small moments that define our happiness and our memories. We don't need to have just one. And this next chaper is another small wonder.

* * *

It amazed him how quiet it was in the early hours before dawn. Only the drumming of rain broke the silence, though it muffled any louder noises. No thunder rumbled across the sky, no lightning woke small children. Only the rain, rushing past the windows.

On such a night many years ago, a baby had been abandoned on an orphanage step. He had slept peacefully in the rain, then. But tonight, despite the early hour, Lewis Cornelius Robinson was wide awake. His face was pressed against a pane of glass, watching the newborn baby that lay on the other side.

The baby boy yawned and stretched, settling back into deep sleep. Lewis smiled.

Franny lay sleeping in the room behind him. The other Robinsons had gone home for rest hours before. Lingering bouquets of flowers scented the entire floor, and the place seemed all the more fragile for it.

There had been many other mothers there that night.

"It's the rain," a nurse had said. "Something about the atmosphere pushes the babies out."

Lewis had nodded frantically, trying to seem polite while Franny crushed every bone in his hand. A natural birth had been her idea, but that flew out the window once she felt her first contraction. Then her request had only been for an epidural, _right now_.

Another smile threatened to split Lewis's face in half. The way Franny had looked, holding their son for the first time, seemed such a sacred thing. She was a Madonna, the baby a holy light. He had almost been afraid to come close, to break what was obviously the most beautiful and primitive of connections.

But Franny had looked up at him, and smiled.

"Come see your son," she had said.

She held him out for his father to hold, and Lewis shook, more terrified than he had been when he'd asked Franny to marry him. He held his arms awkwardly, trying to accommodate the squirmy, misshapen bundle.

The baby had settled, his head resting in the crook of Lewis's arm, his tiny mouth working in silent speech. His skin was red, his dark hair stood up in all directions. Lewis stroked the boy's cheek with a large, rough finger. It was amazing how tiny a person could be, how absolutely perfect everyone started out as.

As he stared in wonder at his son's face, the baby's eyes opened. It was only a tiny slit between eyelids, a weary glance that still bore right through Lewis and made him gasp.

"His eyes are blue," he said. "They're supposed to be brown."

And they were blue, a cool marble color that he had seen in the eyes of kittens and puppies.

Franny smiled. "All babies have blue eyes are first. I thought you would know that, Mister I-Have-A-Doctorate-In-Everything."

Lewis shrugged, smiled back. "He just took me by surprise."

He looked down at the baby again, smiling. "He's going to keep surprising me."

Slowly, he bent to put the baby back in Franny's arms, kissing her as he let go of his son. "Name time?" He asked.

She smiled. "Go ahead. You thought of it."

_Not really,_ Lewis thought. _It was the name he told me. It was his name, it will be his name. This is what he was always meant to be._

"Wilbur," he had whispered.

"Wilbur," he said again, hours later, his face pressed against the glass. "Or should I call you Captain Time Travel?"

His son yawned again, and his tiny fingers spread like starfish.

Lewis Cornelius Robinson smiled, and Wilbur Lewis Robinson slept. The rain fell, and time meant nothing.

* * *

**Final Note: **Oh, it's short. It's so short. Please forgive me, because I started with another idea and wrote this one instead. But that other idea is coming along. In the meantime, Keep Moving Forward.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** In honor of Father's Day (a day late, I know). Warning, this one is a bit sad. But the idea came from Jamrulz, so shift the blame thataway! (Kidding. Thanks for your input, Jamrulz!)

And to everyone who's been reviewing and watching and favoriting: Thank you.

* * *

"Dad?"

Lewis looked up from his homework (mapping the genetic code of a Peruvian Dart frog) and adjusted his glasses.

"Wilbur?"

The dark-haired man in front of him stared--like he was afraid Lewis would disappear before his eyes. He wrung his hands, then shoved them into the pockets of the black coat he wore.

Lewis frowned.

"You're...old."

Wilbur almost laughed, then choked. "What's that supposed to mean? I'm thirty-two! _And_ I'm still younger than you."

"Not in this time," Lewis replied, leaning back in his chair. "I'm still fifteen."

"That's completely wrong and illogical, and you know it."

"I'm _never_ wrong," Lewis said, grinning. "I'm your father. And illogical..." He raised an eyebrow. "...does it get more illogical than this?" A quick gesture of his arm encompassed the two of them, and time itself.

Wilbur shrugged and sat down beside the frame that would be Carl. "So, fifteen? Your first go-around at college, then."

"Second," Lewis replied. "So are you going to tell me what's up?"

"Up?" Wilbur blinked, looking at one of Lewis' ears. "Nothing's up."

Lewis leaned forward in his chair, channeling his best Stern Dad. Cornelius could pull it off very well. His younger self, however, resembled nothing more than a disgruntled teenager. "You wouldn't take a leisure trip through time, Wilbur. Not after what's happened."

His son grinned a little. "Well, I do have the authority now. Commissioner Wilbur Robinson of the Time-Continuum Task Force, at your service."

It took a moment for Lewis to pick his jaw up off the floor. "Let me see your badge. And it better not be another coupon!"

"Course not!" Wilbur said, reaching for his wallet. "After you invented the time machines, a bunch of universities started asking for one. History departments, physicists, the works. So I have to monitor all these trips they're taking to see Isaac Newton...here we go. Feast your eyes on this little beauty."

The badge looked like the ones police wore in Lewis' time, but when Wilbur pressed a button, a full profile of Wilbur Robinson rose as a tiny holographic image. His name, badge number, and birth date appeared next to his head.

"Ah-ah, mustn't touch," Wilbur sing-songed as he shut down the image. Lewis realized that his hand had been instinctively reaching for the badge. "If it gets a whiff of any DNA but mine, an alarm goes off," Wilbur explained.

"It's so cool!" Lewis said. "How does it work?"

The light in Wilbur's eyes dimmed. "You tell me. You made it."

Lewis noticed, dragging his attention away from the gadget to focus on Wilbur. "Are you _sure_ nothing's wrong?"

"Yeah, yeah," Wilbur waved a hand. "I've just been a little tired lately. New baby and all that."

"Baby?" Lewis squeaked. "One of mine? Your brother? Sister?"

Wilbur shook his head, grinned. Then he pointed at himself.

"Yours? You...jeez! I'm a grandpa! I'm..." Lewis looked at his hand, still young and unlined. "I'm a grandpa?"

Wilbur pulled another hologram card out of his wallet, dangling it like a treat. "I brought _video_."

The child wriggling around on the blanket was only a few months old. It yawned, stretching, its tiny mouth gaping wide. Then its eyes opened, a bright blue contrasting with its dark hair. A bright smile dawned on its face, and then the hologram replayed.

Lewis watched, enraptured. He gasped, and smiled, and almost stopped breathing.

"We named him Cornelius Wilbur," Wilbur said, watching his father. "Everyone's already calling him Neely."

"Neely?" Lewis laughed, finally looking away from the video. "You shouldn't have done that."

"We wanted to."

"Your wife was okay with that?" Lewis' eyebrows rose with the unspoken question, _'What's she like?'_

"She was wonderful." Wilbur grinned. "_Is_ wonderful. I still can't believe she married me."

"I can't believe it either, a goof like you." Lewis smirked. "Jeez, Wilbur, you're blushing!" His smirk faded into a small smile. "You really love her."

"Yeah." Wilbur turned away, put the holocard and badge back into his wallet. "I had good example to work from. How are you and Mom doing?"

"Right now?" Lewis pulled off his glasses and started cleaning them with his shirt. "It's hard. Just because _I_ know that we're meant to be together doesn't mean _she_ does. I'm just trying not to scare her off at this point. I don't want to lose her."

Wilbur bit his lip and looked down. Lewis replaced his glasses, frowning.

"I'm really glad you came," Lewis said, "and you've done a great job distracting me. But you're acting weird, and you're avoiding whatever it is. Can't you tell me why?"

For just a moment, the middle-aged Wilbur appeared thirteen years old again, hiding a terrible secret from his parents. Then he seemed to shake himself, and stood up.

"I wish I could," he said. "Gotta go."

Wilbur was halfway down the stairs when Lewis called out.

"Hey! You're still my best friend."

"Likewise," Wilbur choked out, and ran the rest of the way outside.

#

Franny saw the rainbow-burst of a time bubble just as she was leaving the house. She waited for Wilbur to catch up with her, and they walked across the yard, arm-in-arm.

"Did you have a good visit?" She asked. Her voice seemed soft and faded, in tune with the grey streaks in her hair.

"Yeah." Wilbur looked down at his mother. Dressing entirely in black didn't suit her. "You could have come."

"No." Franny looked up at her son, grown tall and lanky like his father, and gave him a small smile. "I don't think I'm strong enough for that."

As they approached the crowd at the bottom of the hill, where two boys had once crashed a time machine, Wilber leaned down to his mother's ear.

"Mom, you're stronger than I could ever be."

They clasped hands tightly, taking comfort, and giving it, before they let go. Wilbur went to stand with the rest of the family, and Franny stepped up to the podium set in front of the gravesite. Without a tear, or sob, or quavering voice, she delivered her husband's eulogy.

* * *

**Final Note: **Told you it was sad. Made me cry, anyway. Thanks again to Jamrulz.

Note that I did NOT describe what Wilbur's wife looked like. Because we all want to marry him, don't we? ;)

One more chapter planned for Small Wonders, but after that, I don't know. So if you have any suggestions, they're welcome. Thanks for your support, everyone!


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Just when I think I'm done...another plot bunny hops into the yard and nibbles away at the carrots that, today, serve as a metaphor for my brain. Weird.

Big, big shoutout to everyone who still reads, and the newbies who have only recently jumped on the ever-expanding bandwagon. Cheers!

Also, I have some very exciting news. Dr. ET, one of the authors on the site, has his own Oscar-style awards show (fabulous idea, gangs of fun), and Small Wonders was nominated for...seven categories! That's seven out of twenty-one, people! Eeeeeeeeeeee! Recognition!

The nominations (and wins!) will be listed in the final note at the bottom.

* * *

There were certain things that Lewis Cornelius Robinson wouldn't admit.

Number one: That he dressed like an eighty year old man.

It was understandable that he wouldn't accept this incontrovertible fact. Children in an orphanage didn't have many options when it came to clothing. Out of the few donation boxes that they received, clothes that fit were what mattered. And even after his adoption, his style was not improved by the fact that his mother and father were a scientist and a science teacher, respectively. Dressing like a nerd was a family thing.

Which left him in serious trouble when prom night came around.

To be more specific, it was Franny's prom. Lewis had been thankful to have his high school days over with as quickly as possible _thank you very much_. He was in his lab writing his thesis for yet another doctorate when Franny cornered him. She sat on _Theory of Robotic Construction, Physiology, and Psychology_, then crossed her legs right in front of him, resting her feet on his knee. Lewis gulped and looked up at her face as quickly as possible.

"Lewis," she said. "The time has come."

"What?" He squeaked, then coughed, and said again in a proper manly voice, "What?"

"The prom is tomorrow," she said, her voice playful. But Lewis knew better than to relax. Her eyes were narrowed in a way that spelled certain death for those that crossed her. "I have my dress, and my shoes, and your boutonnière, and my hair, nail, and makeup appointments. I am prepared to be your date. You _are_ going to take me tomorrow. You promised."

He had? When had this happened? And there was no way a clone of his could have done it; the machine wouldn't be ready for another year, at least.

"Uh...I have?"

"Three months ago. At my birthday party. Since you forgot to bring me a present..." Here she made her eyes water and lip tremble, "...you said that you would take me to the prom. _No matter what_."

And so half an hour later, Lewis found himself calling every tux and limo rental in town, taking small breaks to call the florist for a corsage. None of the above. Not anywhere. Even when he gritted his teeth and said a small prayer for his bank account (which had much, much more in it than was normal for a teenage boy, but _still_) and tried to _buy_ the tux, limo, and the entire florist shop, he was still incredibly out of luck.

He had to borrow Bud's ancient tux that he had worn at his wedding. The limo was replaced with a BMW that he promised to have back to the dean of the college by eleven. (The dean had been quite happy to loan his car to the college's best and most likely to succeed student, but had visibly winced when Lewis accidentally stalled the car on his first try.) And as for the corsage...well, it was lucky that Lucille kept a rose garden.

#

Number two: Lewis Cornelius Robinson could not dance. At all. Not even a vague shuffle from side to side. Not even the Macarena. And there was no way he could even pull off bobbing his head to the rhythm when Franny looked at him so adoringly, or held him arm so tightly.

He had no idea how this could be going so well; his hair had refused all attempts to be gelled down. His eyes were bloodshot from the contacts that he had tried to put in. And there was, of course, the tux, car, and hastily made corsage.

But somehow, tonight, it didn't matter. Franny's parents had assumed that his appearance was from long hours studying. The other students had thought that he was either a rock star or into some _really_ serious stuff. And everyone thought that his suit was 'vintage', the BMW 'glamorous'. The girls squealed over the corsage, saying how _thoughtful_ and _romantic_ it was of him, and they wished _their_ boyfriends had done that for them.

Except...none of that mattered. Because as soon as Franny had swept down the stairs to meet him, he had stopped worrying about himself, and what he was doing. Everything that night was about her. She was beautiful, and she wanted to have fun, and she wanted him to be her partner for it. And that made him feel so incredibly...happy.

Franny had laughed at him, then reached over and closed his mouth, which had been hanging open. She twirled to model her red dress for everyone, and cameras were flashing everywhere.

And now he was attempting to remain calm enough to remember where his feet should go, and Franny rested her head on his shoulder, and he tripped yet again.

#

Number three: He had absolutely no idea about women.

Knowing who he was destined to marry since the age of twelve had not given him the urge to seek out other girls. Not even the ones that had asked. Why bother? He had already found the perfect girl.

So when Franny went to the bathroom, and a crowd of girls swallowed him up, he immediately tried to flee. But the press of girls brooked no escape. He was flooded with questions about college, and how much money he earned, and was that BMW really his, and just how serious was he about Franny?

One blond girl in a cotton candy-pink dress ran her hand up his arm. "How about we go get some drinks?" She said, fluttering her eyelashes. "My date is _so_ boring."

"Uh, no thanks," Lewis said, trying to wriggle away from her grip. The girl's manicured nails dug in tighter.

And then a different hand grabbed his other shoulder and wrenched him around. A fist smashed into his face, and Lewis fell to the floor. His glasses had fallen off, and he squinted at whoever had hit him. All he could get was a dim impression of a bulky, fleshy mountain.

"That's my girl, nerd!"

Lewis' fingers managed to find the familiar round frame of his glasses, and as he replaced them on his face, he replied to Flesh Mountain. "You can have her! At least my date doesn't try to grab any guy she meets!"

This was, perhaps, not the smartest thing to say.

#

Number four: He bruised incredibly easily.

It really was fortunate that the school nurse was one of the prom chaperones. And while she stuck tampons up Lewis' nose, Franny proceeded to pound the living snot out of Mitchell Nietzholt (aka the mountain of flesh).

The poor kid didn't really stand a chance. Franny ripped her dress doing one of her flying kicks, and broke the heel on her left shoe. Meanwhile, Lewis sat in a corner with an eye swollen shut and tampon strings coming out of his nose. That added up to one ruined prom night, a federal offense to any teenage girl.

When Franny and Lewis of them showed up at the ice cream parlor an hour later sporting serious bruises and ripped prom clothes, they earned more than a few curious and alarmed glances. Franny had also collected a detention slip for the following Saturday.

"It's not fair," she grumbled, stirring her sundae into a concrete mix. "We had plans that day. And it was Mitchell's fault!"

"We can reschedule," Lewis said, plucking the cherry off the top of his ice cream. He held the ripe fruit in front of Franny's lips. She looked at the cherry, then raised an eyebrow at him before gently placing her lips around it and pulling it from his fingers.

Lewis smiled.

"I guess you're right, as usual," she relented. "There's going to be other days."

Her eyes met his, and it seemed as if she were asking a question. Will there be other days? Just how long do you want to stay together? Is this just a fling, or is it...forever?

Lewis reached across the table and took her hand.

"We've got all the time in the world," he said.

#

And number five: He was a sappy romantic to his very core.

* * *

**Final Author's Note:** This isn't even the original chapter that I had planned. So I've still got at least one more in me. After that, who knows?

And now, the nominations!

*Best Ending

*Best Summary

*Best Use of Words

*Best Editing

*Best Drama Story

*Best Original Version 2-Type Story (outstanding creation of own version of a previously completed or incomplete storyline)

*Best Story

The wins were in the following categories...

**Best Summary**

**Best Story**

Thank you so much for your support, guys! The link for Dr. ET's page is here: .net/u/1702018/Dr_ET . Go check out the other winners!


End file.
